feather light but you can't move this
by Erileen
Summary: Samuel J. Winchester doesn’t need help, but maybe, just maybe… Dean does.


**Disclaimer **I don't own Supernatural or any of the other things you may recognize here in any way, shape, or form

**Warnings **AU, major character death, Dean/Jo, Sam/OFC. Future fic.

**Title **from the Red Hot Chili Peppers song "Purple Stain"

--

Samuel J. Winchester has a goatee, and it throws Dean from the moment he sees it.

He slaps his brother on the back, swears approvingly. Samuel brushes off his shoulder, offers taut words and a hand shake.

And Dean can't help but stare at that too.

They trade history like baseball cards – Bobby doesn't hunt anymore since he busted up his leg real bad a few months back; he still needs a cane to get around, and wakes up swearing every morning 'cause it's so stiff. Jo's kid is growing up cute, "not dorky like you, Sammy, he takes after his old man." Then a quick flash of a smile _(his front tooth is chipped, this is new) _and "kidding." After all, he's sworn up and down since the strip turned pink that the kid isn't his, and Jo has eagerly backed him, but it's turned more than a couple heads how quickly he's stepped in as a surrogate father to little Mattie.

Samuel reaches into his old, soft wallet, practically the only thing he has left from when he was 'Sam,' and pulls out a virtual photo album – smiling, brunette wife, giggling like a kid in summertime with a look on her face saying 'don't you dare take that picture' but a gleam in her eyes begging him to, all the same; then the three mini-me's, nephew nephew niece, two blondes and a baldie. He asks how old, and when Samuel, strong lawyer Samuel with -- with this _goatee,_ puts down his drink, he doesn't miss the way his hand tremors: "Six months, this month."

He laughs and takes a sip, closing his eyes and going back to the moment the damn thing finally got it's ass wasted. Ah. Headache starting. He rubs it. Sam probably would have clucked and fretted, asked how many concussions he's gotten since the last time they've met –

_ (six, for the record. And once I thought you were holding my hand, but it turned out to just be another nameless EMT)_

- and offer an Advil and _bitch_ and say he can't keep getting hurt like this. Samuel, though, _Samuel _just says something about how the wife has been having migraines lately. Sly grin, mentions it's her first symptom when she's pregnant.

He's getting shut out here, 4-0.

Is he nervous, 'bout …well, you know, man. _This month? _Samuel's jaw tightens, but he's learned how to keep cool under pressure, and shakes his head no. That's old hat, nothing's gonna happen.

_ (doesn't mean he won't sit up all night, Bible in one hand, holy water in another, cross-bow under the rocking chair)_

He doesn't need help, but thanks for offering. No, he's Samuel J. Winchester now, and Samuel J. doesn't need help.

Something buzzes and S. Winchester reaches for it, reads it. Oh God, look how fast the time has flown. Handshake. Pay for drink. Call again when you're in the area.

Samuel J. Winchester doesn't hold the door open for the kid behind him. He gets into an expensive car, and pulls out of the lot, drives away.

Samuel J. Winchester doesn't need help.

But maybe, just _maybe… _Dean does.

--

His number on the donor list is more than what he weighs –

_ (which is more than you'd expect now, belly pooch, shoulders sagged. He's old, you know)_

-- and all the doctors tell him is _time is running out. _

Sir, there's no one who could potentially give you a kidney? Just in case you…

Bobby's old, he needs all the organs he can get; Ellen's dead now, close to four years. Jo, she's trying to raise his god damn _kid _and all, alone the way she is, she can't risk a kidney. And Dad is gone, and so's Jim and Caleb for _God _years and years they're worm food by now, besides don't they have people who cut out your organs before you get buried?

Oh, yeah.

_ (We burned them, remember, Sammy?)_

--

We can contact them for you, Sir, do all the explaining. Just give us the word.

Samuel J. Winchester. 4 McCarther Road. 555-3030.

Samuel J. Winchester. 4 McCarther Road. 555-3030.

_Samuel J. Winchester. 4 McCarther Road. 555-3030. _

He notices the nurse is calling someone. Did he accidentally say that out _loud? _

--

Samuel J. Winchester storms in on a train of hurricanes.

He yells words like _inconsiderate _and _jackass. _Sometimes he yells them together. Words like _you could have told me! _Words like _you should have told me. _Words like _i'm your brother. _

_ (Lies. All of them. _

_ No you're not.)_

--

S.J.W. and Dean are not matches, and Samuel throws a fit. He seems to have some kind of notion that because he's a well-paid lawyer, it's impossible that his brother's body will reject the organ. Can I speak with your superior?

My brother's body will reject the organ?

My brother's body…?

_My brother…?_

_ (I have a name, you know. Or did you forget, because I'm not in your family pictures?)_

--

Dean's been dying before, and he probably will be dying again.

However, S.J. Winchester is determined not to let him _die. _

Honey, Jack is yelling for you…?

He turns, squints, from a gleaming monitor and offers a terse _you do it. _

She sighs, comes up behind him. The melancholy half-tune of Jack wailing blares in his ears. It's worse than Dean's stupid rock.

…oh God, _his _stupid rock.

She wraps her ivory arms around his shoulders. Of course this is gonna be hard on you, honey, but our kids need you.

She kisses his hair, reaches for the mouse, closes his windows.

She unwraps himself from him as he starts upstairs.

_Besides, _she yells from the kitchen, _you and your brother aren't close anyway!_

--

Dean's here!

Jo's old now, her face wrinkly. It's late at night, and she's smearing some kind of cream onto her face, the kind that will "reduce the look of fine lines moisturize skin add a glow _and _make you live forever" all in one bottle.

Dean's here, Dean's here!

No he's not, Mattie. Dean was maybe never the brightest bulb _(sleeping with Ellen Harvelle's daughter for God's sakes, the crazy bastard__. She blames it on the concussions…) _but he knows that showing up this late at night is just begging for an ass-whoopin'.

Ding dong.

She sighs and heads for her gun as Mattie unlatches the door.

--

Her eyes question him the whole time. But he brought _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, _because he knows it's Mattie's absolute _favorite, _and they all have to watch it right now. Yes, you too, Mama!

He pushes in the tape, says he makes Mama keep it around just for this. Dean turns and looks at Jo. She shrugs. DVDs are all the rage, nowadays. Or something.

Mattie runs around the turns off all the lights. Jo sits on one side of the couch, arms crossed decidedly over her breasts. Mattie laughs and points. I love it when you come over, Dean.

_Well, they can't all be real people, _the little girl (Veronica? Victoria?) is saying. He looks over at Jo, who's staring into the screen, jaw set, shaking her head.

_Well of course they're real people! _Gene Wilder chuckles.

Mattie falls asleep, but fights until the end. Jo presses pause angrily, then STOP. She switches off the TV as the Oompa Loompas are singing. Dean sighs, stares down at Mattie. If only he'd fought a little harder; this is his favorite part.

He starts to reach down to lift him up, but Jo pushes him out of the way. Terse words – _i got it. _

_ (there's no i in the word 'us', Jo Harvelle…)_

She carries him out, thin arm muscles straining. She lays him in his bed. He stands in the doorway, watches as she tenderly tucks him in, kisses him on the forehead, and then shuts the door behind her. He chuckles. And to think she worried about not being a good enough mom.

She sighs. What on earth is he _doing _here?

He grapples for a little, runs his hands through hair. Sighs.

Jo, Jo, Jo. A lot has happened in a little time.

--

He doesn't cry, when he tells her he's… well, you know.

But she does.

Because she knows he's going to Hell, after all the shit he's done.

He says he knows too.

Jo and Dean, they hated each other's guts sometimes.

But _(and here's the thing they swore they'd never utter)_ – Mattie was his. They hadn't told a soul, denied it until their throats bled. But there was no question about it; they both knew full well.

They were going to tell Mattie, one day, when he was old enough. They thought they'd have years to figure out how to say it, how to piece together the gaps that seemed too big.

As it turned out, they only had…

_how long again, Dean?_

Oh, yeah. Four months.

She sighs, blinks back tears. God damn, Dean Winchester. You can't follow the book on anything, can you?

Don't they usually give you a year's notice?

--

They talk until their mouths run dry, so it seems like a good idea for a drink. She starts to take out a pitcher of water, but looks at this man – this _Dean, _dying for God's sake – and she cracks open a bottle of tequila.

The next thing he knows it's three hours and countless shot glasses later and they're on the kitchen floor and he whispers _how thick is Mattie's door again?_

And she laughs and runs her hands along the prickly, short hairs on the back of his neck. _Shh… _

--

He stirs first, shakes his head… holy crap, it's almost morning. The birds are singin' and all.

She's wrapped around him, still, clinging to something once lost.

He tries to move gently, softly, so as not to wake her, but she lets out a _mhmm _and her eyes blink awake.

_(Jesus (!) Mary (!) and Joseph (!))_

She reaches quickly for her shirt, pulls on her jeans.

He shrugs into his leather jacket, faithful as a golden retriever. What a night, eh? He winks, one of those hazel eyes that makes a pit form in her stomach.

She reaches, shakes out her long hair. Will he be able to come again before he…

Oh, you know.

Don't make me say it, you dick.

He reaches into his pocket for something, and tosses them to her.

Car keys.

For Mattie, of course. When he's old enough. As long as he doesn't turn into a little hellion, the type who would crash Her, desecrate something Holy.

_(Oh jeez, did he really just use the word 'hellion?')_

That's when she cries.

He's heading for the back door, when she asks how Sam's taking all of this.

He stops, fingers laying on the knob. He turns.

Samuel Winchester is taking everything in stride, but the jury's still out about Sam.

… what?

The doorshut is the answer she gets.

--

It's 10:03 am on a Monday, and everyone's around the water cooler.

Jim's not here; he flew out to Sarasota. His mom's real sick.

Pete banged his sister-in-law. _Again. _There's an office pool about how long he'll go without getting caught. Everyone's laughing and guffawing, and normally Winchester would be too, but today he's just standing there, crunching the diamond of a paper cup into littler and litter pieces.

10:12 am.

"You alright?" someone finally asks him.

He shrugs, and they assume it's his wife. The baby. The boys.

He's going back to his office, now.

--

Honey, dinner's on the table!

Two boys, in soccer uniforms, come rushing in. Come on now, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. No cleats inside. Go kick them off right now, young men.

She picks up the baby, puts her into the high chair. Only a few more days, then you're six months old!

She yells for her husband again. What the hell? He's always down fast when she makes roast, he _loves _roast.

The boys come in from outside. Sean, where's your father?

_ (He never came home)_

--

Mr. Winchester, it's spreading faster than we anticipated.

S.W. starts to protest angrily, maybe _sue _him, 'cause he's a lawyer now and knows how all that works, but Dean shushes him:

_(How much time I got, Doc?)_

A shrug. Not four months, I guess.

--

For the next three days, Dean gets whatever Samuel Winchester wants.

Except a free ticket out.

Come on, man, I don't want to die in here.

Samuel Jonathan is banging away on his laptop in the corner, glasses askew. He doesn't even look up, as if he's talking to a juvenile :

_you aren't gonna die, period. _

--

Ma'am, this wing is closed to visitors, it's after hours –

_i'm married to Samuel Winchester, I'll do what I want. _

She storms into the room, sees her husband in the corner on a laptop, her brother-in-law dozing, beeping machines and IVs surrounding him.

He looks up at her, tired eyes.

She crosses her arms. Samuel J. Winchester just missed his daughter's six month birthday party.

He sighs; he knows. But God, this is my _brother _we're talking about here!

He pulls her in close. "You gotta understand, I can't just let him die, after all he's done!"

She looks up at him, confused, angry. _What? _You don't even make sense. You haven't talked to him in almost seven years!

He looks over at his dying brother.

_ (I _know _it's been seven years; do you think I wasn't counting every day?)_

--

The keyboard is _clack-clacking _when suddenly he hears a scream.

Dean!

He's bedside in a few seconds flat, laptop falls to the floor.

Where's Sam?!

"I'm right here Dean, I promise, I'm not gonna leave you" He turns, screams HELP again, over his shoulder.

No, I mean where's _Sam? _

"It's me, Dean, I'm getting you help" He's crying now, he hasn't cried in _years. _

He's screaming in pain, every cell is on fire. _Ohgod oh god…_

this is it.

"Sammy…" he whispers as the doctors rush in, and he dies with his hazel eyes wide open.

--

Samuel Jonathan Winchester's entire world is on fire.

No.

Literally.

--

The story runs the next day in several papers about the Winchester home, 4 McCarther Road, going up in flames. The body of 38 year old Sarah Michelle Yucan Winchester was not recovered_ (presumed dead)_ and her 5 year old, Jackson Nicholas Winchester, died soon after.

Sean Ashton Winchester, aged 6, is still in the burn unit, listed under grave condition.

Only the baby, Olivia Penelope Winchester, who turned 6 months old yesterday, escaped unharmed. Prominent lawyer, Samuel Winchester, was not in the home at the time of the fire.

There's no point of origin.

--

"_We're each other's weakness! You're mine, and I'm yours!" Dean said once. _

The Demon, he knew that.

He knew how to get Samuel J. out of His way.

--

Samuel J. Winchester quietly resigns. He packs up what little he has left, and he leaves. The neighbors say he just went nuts – overpowered by grief, seeing everything he'd spent his life building vanish away. He took his daughter and got into his expensive car and got the Hell out of Dodge.

He didn't stay for the funerals of his two sons, his wife.

Instead, he drove to a barber. He kept his daughter in his lap while he had his entire head and goatee shaved off, and left the barber an inordinately large tip. He left the man spluttering as he left. He dropped his glasses to the pavement outside, tried to crunch them, but his loafers, expensive lawyer loafers, were so soft they wouldn't break the frames.

So we walked into the nearest store, bought all sorts of cheap 'hobo clothes' that he couldn't have imagined being seen in six months ago. He rips off the security tags in the dressing room, drops a Ben Franklin on the floor, and leaves.

He puts a cap on his bald head, and drives again.

He walks into a funeral, but not the one you'd expect.

There's Bobby, practically at ninety degrees with the ground, leaned up on an old wooden cane. Jo, her eyes swimmy with tears, in a black dress. She's alone.

She hasn't told Mattie his favorite person in the word is dead yet.

Big, life changing things like this are upsetting to kids with autism.

--

Back in town, there was a huge funeral for the three doomed Winchesters. People came in from all over to mourn. It was a small community, you know.

Police had to come in and help direct traffic. Firefighters who worked on the blaze stood, awkward and too big in their suits. They checked their pagers often, wishing for an emergency to call them away. Their children begged to be picked up.

They would hold them, and look at the two tiny caskets and the big one in the middle, and whisper _i sure am glad that isn't you._

--

Hunters surround the small forest. It _is_ Dean Winchester, after all. He was a legend.

One, a younger guy called Eliot who started hunting just about when they stopped, comes over, shakes his hand. "I'm so, so sorry about Dean. You're Sam, right?"

He just about half drops the baby, because something clicks.

_Where's Sam?_

_Where's SAM?_

He drops to his knees, and a hush comes over the crowd as he sobs.

Sam just found him, right as someone lights the match to set the fire ablaze.

--


End file.
